Give Me the Freedom
by Paxa.Romana
Summary: Before the song, before the dance, before the theater became their cradle, one special thing Ryan and Sharpay Evans had was sleepovers. R/S Friendship. Dedicated to Chloe.


Give Me the Freedom

A One shot by Desireé Lemmon

Dedicated to Chloe, for giving me the actual O.K. to write a Sharpay-centric. You and your funny PMs are love. :)

Last minute A/N- The song lyrics at the end are 'Signal Fire' by Snow Patrol.

Wow, this is really, really long. The longest chapter, oneshot, whatever, I've ever written. If you read through all of it, _congrats_!

_It is when we want most for our friendships to_

Last Forever

_That the inevitable flaws between companions overwhelm what we refuse to believe are weaknesses_

…

Before the song, before the dance, before the theater became their cradle, one special thing Ryan and Sharpay Evans had were sleepovers. At school, she was a drama queen who demanded the spotlight, and he was the quiet backdrop that wore a lot of hats. At home, she was the whiner and he was the good child. But together, and on their own, they had sleepovers every Friday night to watch old movies and eat junk food and have as much fun in a five by six tent as two people could. The start of the weekend was always theirs and would only be that.

The tradition had started only God knows when, some time in the kindergarten year when Jessica Evans had to occupy her two children while she had her Women's Club meeting in the house parlor. The on-staff maids at the time seemed confused when she asked them to scavenge the basement for some 'youthful entertainment'. Wendy, the first maid, located four half-dead flashlights and a plastic log fire with a switch-on orange flame; Candice, the second maid, found a patriotic themed tent underneath the staircase, and that's when Jessica got the idea for a bivouac.

"A _what?_" asked a five-year-old Sharpay snootily, holding her nose up in the air as her mother patiently explained to her the idea of camping. Ryan stood next to her, listening carefully and glancing at his sister every once in a while, as if checking to see how he should react. The little blond girl didn't look convinced by the end of the spiel. "Mother, I don't like the wilderness."

Calm yourself; calm yourself, Jessica thought stoically. She inhaled quickly and knelt down so she was eye-level with her son and daughter, trying to focus on her yoga breathing. "Sweetheart, you don't understand. It won't be the _wilderness_; just more like a little camp-out in the backyard, on the patio. It should be fun. You guys can make s'mores and Wendy and Candice will help you start a pretend fire and you'll make shadow puppets on the wall and everything. How does that sound?"

Neither of the children said anything for a moment, before Ryan counterfeited a smile and, being an exemplary offspring that never failed to make (at least one half of) his parents proud, nodded and elbowed Sharpay for back up, none of which she presently gave. "Okay, Mom. We'll have the camp-out, like you want."

"That's my sugar bon-bon," Jessica said sweetly, kissing both of his cheeks and sweeping him into a hug, while her daughter hung back to watch with a dark, resentful gaze. "Now go, my friends will be here soon and Candice is making snacks: your favorite, the veggie tray with fat free ranch dressing. Hugs and kisses!"

It was the beginning of one era between siblings, the mark of a friendship that had never existed beforehand due to some jealousy over things they denied ever wanting in the first place. Two people, completely different in most ways with the exception of their genetics, would find a lifelong benefactor in the other, someone who would always be there for them in any situation. It was the dawn of an amazing, rare connection that seemed invincible.

However, most far-fetched things in life were concealed by their better beings, the lesser of two evils. This would be, later in their days when they thought they were on top of the world, a prime example.

…

The Evans family was supposed to be perfect, always on time—in their own perspective, of course, as they operated with a separate agenda than the rest of the world. Some days they would arrive at eight-oh-three, making the people who arrived on the dot at eight early. Other days, they would come at a quarter to, and everyone else would be late. This was how they all functioned, like clockwork, coming in at approximate rates and going out at their own paces. Every family member relied on one another for smooth running, especially the children, Ryan and Sharpay. As twins, they finished one another's sentences and backed the other up when they were in hot water. It was something called sacrifice. _Sacrifice_.

Nothing stayed the same, though. It was late into the evening sometime toward the end of senior year, and the Evans were very, _very_ tardy. There were multiple reasons, all of them to be undisclosed to the public, and mostly disregarded by the family. Jessica Evans was upstairs in the master bathroom, throwing up like vomiting was going out of style, and her husband was out on the balcony, making an important business phone call that was really nothing more than a conversation regarding his compulsive gambling disorder and the consequences. Times like these were not unusual, therefore the twins usually looked to each other for consolation. Sharpay, however, had other things on her mind, none of them involving her brother.

"Zeke, what do you _mean_ you think we're not an interesting couple?" she demanded loudly, her cell phone fiercely pressed against her cheek. She was pacing in front of the house, her Jimmy Choo satin sling-backs aerating the pristinely green lawn and leaving small little gopher holes that looked like miniature craters. "No, I understand what you're telling me; what I don't get is why you're complaining! Don't tell me I'm always at drama practice, _you're_ always at basketball!"

Her brother Ryan sat on the porch swing, his feet flat on the ground and eyes watching the blond girl completely ruin the front yard with just one pair of shoes. His pocket vibrated and he took out his mobile to see a text message from none other than Gabriella. Eyes smiling at the screen in the dark, he read: Hey, where r u tonight?

His response: With the family. Supposedly.

Her response: What do u mean?

His response: Nothing, its stupid anyway. Where r u?

Her response: With Troy. We are going to the movies to meet up w/ Chad and Taylor. You and Shar wanna come?

His response: No thanks. I gotta go. Night.

The quick goodbye was only because of his envy; Gabriella was _always_ with Troy. In fact, they never seemed to part—it was like they were attached at the hip. Upon these thoughts, he mulled over his relationship with Sharpay, someone who once seemed to be his mirror, his reflection, his alter ego wherever they went. But that was an eternity long gone, a past he often forgot wasn't the present, a memory you could only understand if you were the person to harbor it. They were all grown up, and things like _sleepovers_ and _campfires_ had little importance, despite the fact that they—in all their simplicity—were the very things to shape their childhood.

_And comes forth a taste of the other twin._

It was not as if Sharpay Evans disliked her brother. It was not as if she thought he was dim-witted or unbelievably slow (although he did have his blonde moments). It was _certainly_ not as if she deemed him unreliable in the cases of comfort when subjects like their mother's bulimia or their father's addiction came up. The truth was she had no idea who to be around him anymore; it was different when they were younger, when she could open up to him during their Friday night gigs. It was a time where she didn't have to a bitch, or where she really _could_ care about what people whispered behind her back. Ryan was a very absorbent listener; he could take in her hate, her fear, her demons, and make them go away. That was the beauty of having him as a brother, and it was also the disgust of having her as a sister.

They were a match made during one of heaven's off days, when the angels weren't paying attention and God had a too much of a headache to care that he was putting these two people together. Some could call it a mistake, putting the introverted and submissive boy with the loud-mouthed and conceited girl; they, on the contrary, had come to think of it as a beautiful accident, the car tires always screeching and the glass always shattering beneath the dimly lit streetlights at two in the morning.

She loved him to death (to be punny). In fact, she loved him to death, to afterlife, to reincarnation, and over again. That was how much Ryan meant to Sharpay. She was just afraid to show it and consequently screamed at him in order to camouflage her feelings. "Ryan," she said impatiently, tucking her phone beneath her chin and mentally cursing the day she agreed to ever go on a date with Zeke Freaking Baylor, "Go get me a grande cappuccino dry from Starbucks. And don't let the dumb-ass guppy intern put too much milk in it this time. If I want a _crappuccino_ I'll make a run to Coffee Bean." The lame quip was lost on the both of them; this was how distracted the Evans were from the plainest things in the life.

"Shar, it's six o'clock at night," he reminded her, as if she wasn't aware of the darkened sky above them and the flashing clock light of her cellular screen every time she moved her hand. "Mom says the caffeine isn't good for you."

"I don't care what fucking time it is," she snapped, and he saw a brief flicker of bloodshot eyes as she glared at him. "It could be three in the morning and it wouldn't matter to me. _Just go_."

Déjà vu was like a ghost to Ryan; it crept up on him randomly and he always was shaken from the surprise. This was one of those moments, where he felt like his life was a broken record because his sister was enough of a bitch to yell at him for the same things yet again. Something inside him snapped and he, for the first time in his entire life, stood up to say, "No."

She stopped and scowled at him, her shoes sinking into the softened ground once more. "What was that, my darling brother?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as sweet as possible.

"I told you no," he replied evenly. "Go get your own fucking cappuccino. I'm not your servant, Shar, so stop treating me like one."

"Says the boy who wears rainbow fedoras." The sky got even darker, but clearly not because of the setting sun. When things like a fight between close siblings happened, the world began to break down. Easy things like the tides ebbing and the clock ticking and the moon following the earth became difficult, thus the more intricate challenges were complete _messes_. This was all because of some harmful words between Brother and Sister, neither of whom cared to lose this particular dispute. "You're. Being. Unreasonable," she hissed, and finally screamed into her phone, "Zeke, I'll call you back, just stop thinking for one second and—go bake! I don't know, just _forget we had this conversation until I call you back_!" She hung up and frowned at her sibling.

He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can be a nightmare all you want but it won't make a difference to me, Sharpay. I'm so tired of the way you act just because you think that's the way people want you to be. Everyone _hates_ us because you're just awful."

Truth did not mix well with Sharpay Evans; it, quite frankly, never had. She stared at Ryan for a minute before saying brusquely, "I don't believe you." It was a lame answer, but one nonetheless. White flags were MIA at this point. "No one hates us. They thrive off my exquisitely malevolent demeanor and your flaunty 'Queer Eye' outfits."

"God, just shut _up_!" he said loudly, and wondered at the moment if anyone in the neighborhood—Mr. and Mrs. Evans included—could hear them. "Shit, you're so dense sometimes, Shar! You think that everyone likes your catty sneers? You think _I_ like being your second-in-command, your _fabulous_ piano player? No! I fucking don't! So next time you want a cappuccino, stop whining to your two-faced boyfriend and go get it yourself!" He was panting rabidly, his entire body on fire. "You know what, Sharpay? S fits you. S is for stupid, shallow, and selfish."

The Big Bang theory stated that, before cavemen and dinosaurs and Adam and Eve and all that mythological text in the history books, there was an explosion that marked the origin of the universe. Like that, sudden emotion exploded from Ryan, and every hurtful word seemed to cut into Sharpay like shards of the world, ready to fall into place but scoring her skin dramatically because she was in the way. _In the way_. What a manner to be written off like a bad character addition to the second season of a show. _No one wants you_.

"Well R fits _you_, Ryan. R is for…" Her voice stopped, coming to an untimely and somewhat compromising dead-end. What possibly began with the letter R and was an insult, like stupid, shallow, and selfish? "Rude! Horribly rude."

A dog down the street barked; a car drove by, slowing down a moment so the little girl in the backseat managed to look to at them and witness the terror no family wanted. "Our English teachers would be proud, but I think the word you're looking for is 'honest' but maybe you don't know the definition," he replied, eyes so menacing she wasn't sure she was meeting her brother's gaze. "'Honest' means sincere, and morally correct and virtuous. 'Honest' means free of deceit and untruthfulness. 'Honest' means not pretending that you don't hear Mom heaving her guts out in the bathroom, or not pretending that you don't notice Dad anxious to give you his credit card because there's hardly anything left in our bank accounts! 'Honest' means you can admit that cappuccinos can't solve anything, but you keep making me get them for you in the hopes that the last of this foam, the last misspelling of your name on the cup, the last warning that the beverage you're about to enjoy if hot, will fix it all! And it _won't_!"

"What's going on out here?" Jessica and Vance Evans appeared at the doorway. The wife looked unnerved and flustered; the husband seemed sad and overwrought. This wasn't the same Evans power couple like last year at the gala events, or the year before that at the social gatherings. These were two human beings, coincidentally connected to the other by a marriage license but nothing much more, that had shit completely screwing up their lives just like everyone else.

Before either child could answer, Mr. Evans smiled in a ha-ha fashion and held up his hand for Jessica to take. They pranced down the walkway, looking synthetically glamorous, and Sharpay squealed angrily, "God, the act is useless! You guys are going to get a divorce soon, we both know it!" Her hand clamped over her mouth and she blinked before hissing to Ryan, "See? Honest. I can be very honest, especially when I say you suck as a brother."

The words hit him hard but he ignored the pain seeping through his chest like an IV drip in order to retaliate with a poisonous tone, "Yeah, well, you were never that peachy of a sister, either." Yet again, truth never did mix well with Sharpay Evans.

…

Graduation was an awkward season for the Evans family. It seemed that Mother Nature was not intent on letting them off with a warning, so following the fight between Brother and Sister, the timing was never good. Jessica went to rehab right around June, just days before her 'darling little babies' would get their diplomas onstage. Vance had a particular hasty schedule at work, plus with preparations of summertime at the club. This left Nana, their paternal grandmother, to fly in from Florida; however, she was particularly old and the family didn't have the means to get someone to go meet her in Fort Lauderdale. In the end, Sharpay and Ryan Evans would be alone for their final ceremony at East High School.

"Do you think I'll trip when Matsui calls my name?" she asked him nervously, wringing her hands while being mindful of her new manicure.

"I don't know," he said flatly. _I hope so_.

She glanced at him, her thick lashes blooming with mascara. "Do you think he'll allow us to throw our caps up when he announces the class? Vice Principal Connors said no when we asked during the photo shoot, something about the sharp edges of the hats hurting us, but come _on_, it's like total cinema tradition." _Tradition_.

"I don't know." Ryan wasn't about to let her in again, no. She wasn't entitled to that; rewards didn't come as easily as everything else for her.

"Well, do you think Chad Danforth's party tonight is going to be worthwhile?" Now he could hear the impatience in her voice. She was getting tired of his evasiveness.

The graduation music began. "I don't know."

_Ding-ding_, the final bell sounded. Sharpay's eyes flashed and she clenched her fists angrily. "Why are you acting like this? Ugh, are you still upset about that stupid fight we had in, like, _March_? That was so freaking long ago. Why won't you talk to me?"

His glare penetrated her furious demeanor. "I _am_ talking to you, Sharpay," he told her, his voice soporific. "See? Hi, my name is Ryan, and my sister's a bitch." The damage that bleached her face went over his head; in the words of Gandhi, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

The silence between then and Principal Matsui's first call for an Evans was long and uncomfortable. In front of Ryan, Casey Elders spoke animatedly about her volunteer time at the local zoo and captured his interest for the most part. Behind Sharpay, David Farrow complained about his girlfriend's menstruation cycle; it wasn't long before the drama queen turned to him and said curtly, "Do you actually _think_ I want to hear about What'sherface's period woes, you burnout? Or am I just the most available person right now to listen?"

Now that David wasn't talking, Sharpay felt even lonelier. She stared at her brother's shoulder blades until he was called to the stage, and then she would be next. _Sharpay Evans is not graduating with any honors, any recognition, or any praise whatsoever. In fact, she doesn't even really deserve to graduate. She skipped most of her classes in senior year, and the courses she did complete were spent doing her nail polish and texting in class. She will probably end up working as a candy counter girl in a hotel and never accomplish anything more._

"Sharpay Evans is graduating with honors in the drama department, and Miriam Darbus asked me to mention her favorite pupil tonight will be sorely missed," Matsui said into the microphone. The audience had little response other than polite clapping as she walked toward her principal, smiling stiffly. The man handed her the accreditation as he said, "Don't lose sight of what you want, Miss Evans."

She nodded, face frozen with imitation happiness. "Thank you, sir," she said softly, rushing off to the safety of backstage. Sharpay had never been more anxious to get away from the spotlight than at that moment. Nothing ever stayed the same.

…

Chad Danforth had parties that would go down in history. He had parties that beat the record of any other bash you could ever attend in high school. His house was literally the dominion to have the time of your life. No one could have a bad experience while at one these raves; thus, Sharpay was looking forward to attending.

"Hey, hot stuff," the host hiccupped when she walked through the front door, alone. "Where's your brother? Taylor _insisted_ I invite him, too."

"He came on his own," she replied softly, knowing he wouldn't be able to understand her with the loud music.

"So _you_ are all on your own?" Chad asked, eyebrows furrowed. Maybe he had supersonic hearing. _Hear me out_.

She sighed. "Yes, Chad, I'm all my own. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pee." _Liar, liar, pants on fire_. The bathroom would really just be her haven until she figured out what to do; Sharpay Evans wasn't supposed to be a solo person. She always had the co-captain with her; they were part of a duo. But Ryan finally said that word: no.

When she left the room, due to some constant and uncivil banging on the door by a scrawny guy she didn't recognize, Sharpay found herself face to face with Chad again. "You're looking way too hot tonight to be unaccompanied," he mumbled, his stale breath pushing against her bangs.

"You're drunk," she said gruffly, trying to sidestep him.

"I'm _hot and bothered_," he corrected her, grinning lazily. "You know, ever since Zeke began moping around during basketball practice about your break-up, he's been describing your body parts. And holy hell, I can't help myself but ask to play Show and Tell."

Okay, in spite of his disgusting state of intoxication, he was _kind_ of cute. Wait, no! Sharpay, this is Chad Danforth. A _taken_ Chad Danforth. His girlfriend is Taylor. You like Taylor. She isn't too awful, not after that makeover you gave her. Great hair, that girl has. Yes, you like her.

Oh, but Chad was so—_kind_ of cute.

"What about Taylor?" she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "You love Taylor. You love her."

"She doesn't," he sullenly replied, hiccupping again, "love me." And so began the progression of their obsession with one another, finding the most common ground imaginable. In Chad's bedroom, Sharpay felt more alive, more real, and more valuable than any other time. Well, that was only half true. She knew Ryan didn't think she was fake, or worthless—at one point, at least.

They laughed, they kissed, they screamed, they cried; Sharpay had never seen Chad like that and he had never witnessed her true emotions. She felt safe in his arms, like they could protect themselves from anything. _Anything_.

…

He drove her home, because she had—for some reason—walked the entire way in wedge heels. "Don't your feet ache?" he asked when they got into his truck.

"Yes," she replied, trying to hold back her tears. When emotions get bottled up inside you, even the littlest things could make you cry. _Mommy_.

"Do you want me…" His voice trailed off but she smiled, knowing what he was thinking.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm fine." She was silent until they reached the Evans house, and suddenly Sharpay realized she had not seen Ryan all night. She contemplated asking Chad, before forgetting the whole thing and pulling him into a kiss. "I had a good time," she said quietly, still leaning toward him and still holding his face in her hands.

"Right," he agreed, and his lips curled up ever so slightly in a hesitant grin. She nodded and kissed him one last time, before opening her door and sliding out. The walkway seemed to singe her bare feet, and she flinched at the pain, before falling onto the porch swing and breaking down. She watched Chad, oblivious to her tenderness, drive away, and almost yelled out for him to come back. But that would only be a dream: for someone to stick around.

It was then that she realized she was out of high school, out of childhood, out of the simplicity of a friendship with her brother. Her teardrops were heavy and fat, dropping onto her party dress like a leaking faucet. "Sharpay?" She looked up to see Ryan standing there, watching her like she was a show. _Spotlight_.

"What do you want?" she mumbled, turning away in an attempt to hide her dappled cheeks and raw tear ducts.

He was silent for a moment, before shaking his head and trudging inside. She could have sworn he added lowly before he closed the door, "Not you."

…

_The perfect words never crossed my mind_

The next morning, Ryan Nicholas Evans was gone. He didn't leave a note (he wasn't really all to blame for that), his dresser drawers were completely empty (the guy did have an eccentric, irresistible wardrobe), and his cell phone was left on the kitchen counter (why would he take their calls?). No one knew where he had gone, or if he was coming back. Sharpay Haley Evans found herself at a crossroads, not sure whether to scream out for him to stop playing Hide and Seek, or to cry again in solitude because of her fucked up life.

After a long phone call with her father, she gave up. Vance Evans never could find any appreciation for his son, thus Ryan's absenteeism did not affect him very much. Sharpay tried to get a hold of her mother, but the rehab center's secretary refused to patch her through. "Asshole," the drama queen said harshly before slamming the phone down on the cradle and sobbing into her arms. This wasn't happening. This was _not_ happening. She was going to go take a nap, dream of a thousand red roses being thrown onto the stage—her Broadway stage, and when she woke up, Ryan would be back. He would be home. And they would laugh about the ridiculousness of it all, and everything would be good again.

"Honey," Candice said gently, pressing a hand to the girl's back. Sharpay jerked upright and the older woman smiled sadly. "Your grandmother is on the phone. She says she's sorry she missed graduation, and she'd like to talk to you and… your brother. What should I tell her?"

"Have her take a message, please," Sharpay answered. "I'm—tired." Like always.

…

_'Cause there was nothing in there but you_

The sun was hidden among the clouds, woven through the blanket of gray like a piece of thread, on the morning of April 8th. It was their twenty-fifth birthday. Sharpay remembered the one story her mother recited often, the only narrative that favored both children; Jessica Evans loved to tell people she thought she was going into labor on April Fool's Day, but really it was just her precious babies playing an affectionate prank on her. Upon reminiscing, Sharpay grimaced outside; of course she never celebrated anything for herself, since that would go against the 'selflessness' rule she had set for herself. In spite of that, she rolled her eyes at typical Mother Nature again for feeling moody on a day that would have been oh so special seven years earlier.

There was a knock on the door and Julia, the owner of the board house, poked her head in. She was a shapely woman with ruddy cheeks and chin hair, but Sharpay liked her nonetheless; she was a good boss. "Good morning!" sang Julia grandly. "I just had the most marvelous dream last night—home! Yes, home, Austria, where my mother and father lived." While she told of her childhood memories, Sharpay half-heartedly listened and made her bed, tucking in hospital corners and smoothing out wrinkles.

"That's lovely," she said genuinely when the woman finished. She pulled her hair back into a bun and, following Julia's cue, began the alarm clock routine, as people had come to call it. One knock on the door meant wake up, when she finished her part of the house, a second knock would say breakfast time. Those who wished to remain inside—hesitant refugees who hadn't learned to trust quite yet—would perhaps knock back or offer some incoherent mumble she would graciously accept. When she first began working there, it would be frustrating for people to ignore her, but eventually she realized that not everyone wanted to be around people. Sometimes peace was just better that way—in isolation.

_I felt every ounce of me screaming out_

The truth behind her application for a job at the New Mexico border Runaway House was because a part of her wanted to find _him_. He ran away, he would have to end up here sooner or later, right? That was her logic, yet it made no sense. Sometimes she'd abruptly start to cry and Carmen, the only constant friend she'd come to make at the house, would send her to bed with hot chocolate and a tale she had written herself about a runaway she had met. They always made her smile; there was a hidden power in a good story. _Fiction_.

The Runaway House was off of a local highway exit, and the front of the property was no different than any other residence. Her first day, Sharpay had asked Julia how people could tell that it was a shelter. The answer: "Folks looking for a port in a storm can recognize the warmth from behind the walls. They always do."

Sharpay thought Ryan would find the house. She thought he would be dirty and scruffy and in need of a good shower, but his eyes would be the brightest thing in the room when he saw her. She thought he would be older but still his teenage self. And while this was her focus, her promise of positivity to herself, she wondered if maybe she would never see her brother again. _Maybe_.

After he left, she made a promise to herself, and it was not to be selfish, or stupid, or shallow, like he had told her that night. She was being selfish by shouting at Zeke for his neglect when she spent most of her time in drama; she was being stupid by acting like her father's gambling was no big deal; she was being shallow by assuming bulimia was just an in thing now, and her mother wanted to follow the trend. Ryan wasn't rude that evening, more like _right_. He always had been, however much she refused to admit it.

_But the sound was trapped deep in me,_

"You miss him," a young girl said softly when Sharpay brought in her oatmeal and orange juice. This runaway was sick, so Julia asked her to do a room service procedure, bendy straw and all. She looked at the refugee oddly, her face buckled with uncertainty.

"I miss whom?" she asked, laying the spoon beside the bowl.

"Your brother," the girl replied. She was no more than twelve years old, with mousy reddish brown hair and large chestnut-colored eyes. "You were talking to him, the other day, when you were in your bedroom. I was…" She looked bashful, before continuing, "Well, I wasn't snooping or anything, but I was just walking past. And you said 'Hi Ryan. It's me again.' Did he—did he die?"

Pained laughter, the type you rely on when bona fide amusement isn't in the cards, slipped from Sharpay's lips, and she smiled. "No, he didn't die. But he ran away when we were young, and I haven't seen him since then. I miss him a lot." She sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to hear this new story. "Do you miss anyone?"

_All I wanted just sped right past me, while I was rooted fast to the earth_

"My best friend," the girl told her, before taking a spoonful of oatmeal and savoring the flavor. "She got taken away because her father—her mother died when she was little—was abusive, and I got into an argument with my mom and dad about it. My parents said that it was ridiculous she ever went to the police, and that she was an attention hog, and she got what she deserved. But I told them _they_ were the ridiculous ones and that she was my friend, I'd stick up for her."

Sharpay tilted her head to one side and looked thoughtful. "So you ran away?" she finished, and the girl nodded. "Well, you're very brave. Stay as long as you like, okay? I have to finish work, but enjoy the cereal and maybe we'll chat later." They waved and she left the room, remembering all the times Ryan stuck up for her. _Sacrifice_.

Tears welled in her eyes and Carmen appeared, cautious and understanding, to usher her to her room. "Honey, honey, just let it out," she said gently. "I know you miss him, but he's probably thinking of you, too, I know it."

_I could be stuck here for a thousand years, without your arms to drag me out_

It wasn't long before Sharpay fell asleep, falling into the dreamland where she stood on top of her Broadway stage, with not but one single red rose. Her feet draped over the side of the platform, she examined the flower's stem. The thorns had been cut. She pressed her thumb to one of the crimson petals. The dew had been shaken from the head. She held the blossom to her nose. The smell had been preserved, just for her. And very soon Ryan was sitting next to her, like he always was, his arm around her shoulder and his smile being her solace. No matter what anyone else did or did not do, it would be Ryan Evans who would always be there to give his sister the perfect rose, if it be the only one she receives.

When she woke up, a perspective she didn't know suddenly framed her vision. Out of the blue, she had the urge to go for a drive. "I'll be back," she told Julia, taking her car keys and walking outside to hop into the silver Camry. The road stretched out ahead of her, the ending so close and so far. _Ryan_. He had to be home. It had been too long for him not to be there.

Some two hours later, after circling the local Vons and getting three separate bottles of root beer from the Shell gas station, she drove up to the Evans mansion. Her mother had to have some medical complication now; her father had to have spent all their money. This mansion, she knew, was no longer _theirs_—but somehow Ryan was standing there, on the curb, looking up at it just like she was. Her heart stopped for a moment and she swallowed, wondering if this was real, if he was real.

_There you are standing right in front of me, there you are standing right in front of me_

"Ryan?" she called out, opening her car door and standing up to lean against the windshield frame. He turned, and the world suddenly made sense again. The tides were ebbing, and all clocks were ticking, and the moon had no problem finding the earth. Simple things that were made difficult now were back to normal. Except for them. Except for their past.

"Sharpay," he breathed, hands plunged into his pockets. She didn't care that her hair looked like crap, or that her sweatpants were from last season, or that her slippers looked a lot like their Nana's. This was Ryan. And he was _real_.

_All this fear falls away to leave me naked, hold me close cause I need you to guide me to safety_

They didn't think of themselves any different, but Ryan could see wisdom placed unfamiliarly on her face, and Sharpay could see the experience swirling in his eyes. The recent seven years had both done them well. "It's really you," she said, voice hoarse, before throwing her arms around him. He stumbled backwards, but like always, he was still absorbent for her hate, her fear, her demons, and could still make them all go away.

The hug lasted for at least five minutes, Sharpay weeping into his shoulder and Ryan pensively drawing circles on her back with his fingers. "Happy birthday," he whispered into her ear, and she chuckled through her whimpering.

"Happy birthday to you, too. God, we're twenty-five." They stood, facing one another, before taking a seat on the sidewalk. The nature surrounding them reminded her of their camp-outs, long, long ago. "So, how've you been?"

He smiled and reached up to brush some loose strands of hair from her face. "I've been okay," he said, sighing. "I'm just visiting right now, but it's not like there's much to see. Dad sold the house a long time ago, and Mom is living with her sister in New York. I haven't talked to either them for a little over a year now. But every April I come to see what we used to have. You and me."

_No I won't wait forever_

_No I won't wait forever_

The cars in the driveway were bulky, hazardous, _tacky_. The Evans did not drive these. The garden consisted of daffodils and poppies and daisies; never would Jessica allow these monstrosities to be planted. This was another home for another family now. Sharpay cocked her head up at the sky, before smiling. "So you've been back here then."

"Yes. I came back only weeks after you had left," he replied quietly. "Dad was pretty mad at me, but I wasn't so sure I cared. I had been everywhere—from the fifty states to six continents. I'm not so sure I spent the money wisely, but I was a legal adult, I had my inheritance. I knew what I could do with it."

_In the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire_

She could see his car parked across the street, one house down. There was no Ryan-ism to it other than the bumper sticker that she could make out to read, "Honk if you like to color-coordinate everything!" This was his car, of course.

"You seeing anyone?" he questioned her after a while. Sharpay had just squished an ant beneath her thumb. _Crap_. She had been getting so good at letting the icky bugs live.

"No, I'm single. I haven't been on a date in forever," she told him. There was a beat before she asked, "Are you—you know, playing for the other team?" The high school rumors still rang in their ears like the tardy bell. _Reminiscence_.

_The only resolution and the only joy is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eyes_

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I don't 'flaunt what I got' or anything. I'm not all that into metro sexuality. In fact, my best friend's brother is getting me into football now. We watch it every Monday night and I can actually _tell_ which player is which. It's quite fun, really. So now I just need to find another gay guy who likes the New England Patriots."

Reality really sucked sometimes. Sharpay smiled before clearing her throat and asking, "You have a best friend…?"

"Yeah. Her name's Chloe. She lives in Chicago, like me. We met in a coffee shop, where she recommended me a drink and we ended up staying for five hours talking about everything—and nothing." Ryan recognized the hurt in her face and lifted his shoulders before lowering them. "I love her, she _is_ my best friend after all, but you weren't replaced, Shar, if that's what you're thinking."

_There you are standing right in front of me, there you are standing right in front of me_

No, I wasn't, she thought, and shook her head. Reaching over to hug him, she felt good to be in his arms again, protected. They would exchange stories, he would tell her that Troy and Gabriella had gotten married a few years earlier (no surprise there, she would say) and subsequently so did Chad and Taylor (this _would_ be a surprise, but she would fake familiarity). She would tell him that she worked in a runaway home, hoping they would bump into each other one day—although this reunion worked for her, too. It would begin to rain, and then pour, and they wouldn't notice. She would not care that her mascara was running, nor would it be of any importance to him that his finest sports jacket was getting ruined.

_All this fear falls away to leave me naked, hold me close cause I need you to guide me to safety_

It was like their sleepovers, where they had the liberty to eat marshmallows and Sharpay wouldn't feel guilty afterward, and where they could make confessions and Ryan wouldn't feel awkward because he liked the color pink. Nearly twenty years ago, when they were young and pure and independent, the only people that mattered were each other. And now, not much unlike that past they wanted to be the present, they were given the freedom to say sorry, to forgive, to love, to be happy, to care for one another and care for themselves. It was another one of heaven's off days, but the difference this time was there were no mistakes, no accidents, and no errors; only room for creative license and imagination, because they finally had that freedom.

_No I won't wait forever_

_No I won't wait forever_

_No I won't wait forever_


End file.
